


Mirror Switch

by small_secret



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alignment switch, Alternate Universe, Dark Will, Drabble, Guns, M/M, Not Beta Read, References to Suicide, Sane Hannibal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-10
Updated: 2013-06-10
Packaged: 2017-12-14 12:15:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/836763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/small_secret/pseuds/small_secret
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mirrors are turned; Hannibal Lecter works at a crisis clinic lost in memory palaces. Mirrors are turned; Will Graham is an FBI profiler because the world needs to be right. </p><p>It always ends in tragedy tangled between them.  (Alignment switch AU.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mirror Switch

Dr. Hannibal Lecter is rather unassuming, the ruggedly made plaid shirts and soothing colors of mountains that remind him of his childhood gives the impression of warmth and reliability despite starling maroon eyes behind glasses. People trust him. In waves of sweet cinnamon and butter, people trust him.

 

It's something he takes seriously; far too many people in crisis clinics have been hurt by trust or never given it at all. A homeless man finds it impossible to trust when he's been told he's worthless after so many years. A young suicidal girl may have given trust to a family member who has abused it and she has dealt with the shatter pieces. They don't always tell him that, but Hannibal _knows_.

 

It's a tangled chore to entwine with their emotions when the day is over, when he can slip home to his piano and kitchen. However, his patients trust him. Even if they're not aware of the prestige he has in journals and sought out by universities. But he refuses them. He cares far too much for his work and cares far too much for people and doesn't like interruption. 

 

However, the interruption of this life comes with a familiar face.

 

Dr. Alana Bloom greets him with wide smile and a hug when he steps out from group therapy. She's bright as berries, sweet and tart and crisp. Her hug is warm and familiar despite the weight on her shoulders.

 

"And this," She presents, stepping away from her mentor and friend, "Is Will Graham. Will? This is Dr. Hannibal Lecter."

 

The younger man's hair is a touch too long to be in the FBI proper, Hannibal thinks. His eyes much too intense behind contacts. He's dressed well in silks and high count cotton. However, there's a stain of disregard and aloofness to the world around him that Alana doesn't see. Will's much too beautiful to be FBI, Hannibal finds himself thinking before shoving that thought away.

 

Will doesn't quite meet Hannibal's eyes but lips crack as if he can read thoughts..

 

No, Hannibal mutely realizes, Graham doesn't read thoughts. He _feels_ them, "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Will," Hannibal finds himself murmuring before turning to Alana, "I take this meeting isn't for pleasure, then? I don't have to speak to this young man?"

 

"No," Says Will, his hand reaches out to shake Hannibal's hand to Alana's mild surprise, stealing Hannibal's attention away from her, "We're hoping you'll help us catch a killer."

 

Will's touch is warm.

 

* * *

 

They find these killers and they find more; but that's secondary. It's each _other_ that fascinates them.

 

The dance to the bedroom is relatively short but intense. Of questions on both sides, of sharp debate and cutting words that brings their mouths together and their bodies to arch. They both hold back, Hannibal thinks. Both could dig into marrow and carve out what they want and drain the other dry.

 

And what they want right now is each other.

 

There's something hiding behind the sea salt and sugar cane smell, but Hannibal's tongue is greedy for Will's taste.

 

Will was a privileged boy growing up in the remains of High Society in New Orleans; in such dire contrast to Hannibal's own life. Hannibal remembers so very little a the core of the lower class in Communist controlled Lithuania besides the memories of his baby sister. The ability to escape to France in his late teens had been a gift he clung to until he came to America.

 

(He would make sure that there wouldn't be more like Mischa, who lives bright as gold in his memory.)

 

Will's lips are greedy as Hannibal's and reeks of loneliness and need. His hands fist tightly against the rugged cotton of Hannibal's shirts. Legs cling tightly as they fuck; top, bottom, it doesn't matter who is in what position. They're tangled in each other. They drown in the mirror of each other and leave each other hot and cooling on Will's high count sheets.

 

It's not love. It will _never_ be love. But by God that doesn't exist, Hannibal _wishes_ it was.

 

Hannibal is just as lonely within his core.

 

* * *

 

Will is the Whisperer.

 

He murmurs ideas, thoughts, and tangles everything good and turns it sour. He handles knives and rope to end those who displease him and whispers what they fear and how they're worthless. It can be over anything to others, but for Will? Misdeeds, miss-thoughts; things that will roll and create thunder and lighting. They will become criminals and killers; rapist and thieves and will prey upon the week.

 

That is what Will claims.

 

He makes people want to kill themselves. Some he plays over months, some he plays over years, some play in merely a few days. Once he managed to do it in a few hours. He's seen them drown, he's seen them cut their throats, swallow pills, hang. He loves the mental ice of sorrow because that's what they _deserve_. He knew their design for the world.

 

Will likes to think he stops murders, that he stops crime, that he makes lives easier. That is what he whispers in the shell of Hannibal's ear when the gun goes off. It burns into the gut, pushing into intestines, and blood bursts.

 

That is when Hannibal's pencil drives into the flesh of Will's throat. It doesn't do much compared to the colt, but it makes it near impossible for Will run far without being seen.

 

It's Hannibal's near death that makes it possible for him to be brought to trail and to be ruled as insane. It doesn't bring Hannibal much joy to hear the news; he doesn't seek revenge. His mouth is haunted by his Will.

 

Revenge will never quell it.


End file.
